A Hands On Course in Post Modern Tradition
by Pastookles
Summary: AU: Annie and Abed are chosen as tributes in the Hunger Games. Romance will occur in later chapters.
1. The Reaping in District Eight

As the rays from the sun crept into the oddly immaculate apartment in the red light district of District 8, Annie Edison fought her body's urge to wake up. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to cling to what was left of her dream, rather than face the reality that today was the most dreaded day of the year: The Reaping.

Rolling over, the brunette glanced at the small old-fashioned alarm clock that rested on her antique nightstand. Even at eight-thirty in the morning, she still felt like she had overslept, especially since she was expected to be out of her apartment and into a herd of humans in just a few hours. Annie sat up and yawned. She wasn't exactly sure what the repercussions of sleeping in and not showing up for the ceremony was, but she wasn't about to risk oversleeping and finding out. Even on a day that would determine whether her life would be in jeopardy, Annie Edison liked to be punctual.

She crawled out of bed and shuffled her slippered feet across the stained floor as she entered the kitchen area of the one-room abode. With the turn of a dial, and a flick of a match, she lit the burner on her small gas stove, heating the remaining water in the teakettle that had been left there from the night before. Annie then gathered a mug and the small pouch that contained her favorite tea. She opened the pouch and sighed, dumping the small amount of crushed leaves into the water. Leaning against the counter, Annie thought as she waited for the liquid to come to a boil.

It was times like these she wished she had Adderall again. Then again, getting addicted to an herb to the point where you're convinced that everyone around you is a robot and being cut off from your middle class parents isn't exactly the best thing to live by. But at least I could focus. She argued with herself. I wouldn't have these nerves. The apothecary would probably be willing to give her a small dose, just to get her through the reaping. That's all. After that, she wouldn't need it again. At least until next year.

Cursing at herself for even considering the idea, Annie lifted the kettle off the burner and poured the scalding tea through a strainer and into her mug. She had made a promise to herself that she'd never touch Adderall again, even if it was just to get her through today. Besides, even if she had gotten tesserae supplies for the last few years, she knew that there were kids who had their name in multiple times per year, just so that they could support their own poverty-stricken family. As sick as it made her feel, she found reassurance through the idea that maybe today the odds would be in her favor.

It was three years ago that the Capitol had altered the rules. Three years, since she found out that the age cap had been changed so that the tributes ages would range from eighteen to thirty-five. She had been so excited for her nineteenth birthday. So excited to finally be free from the constant fear of being forced in an arena to kill or be killed. And then the announcement was made. She was going to be required to be herded like cattle with the rest of her district's young adults for another seventeen years. Maybe the Capitol citizens found that it was much more interesting to watch a thirty-five year old to kill an eighteen year old in cold blood. And the worst part: they considered themselves charitable for saving the children of Panem from being soiled with the idea of murdering others their own age. As hard as she tried, Annie couldn't muster anything more than a speck of relief for those kids, even though it meant that they'd have to face the hunger games, but just at an older age.

Annie set her tea back on the counter and shuffled back to the closet near her bed. It was tradition that those participating in the reaping wore their best clothes; or at least looked presentable. A red dress caught her eye. It was her favorite, because it was the first that she had sewn herself and actually felt proud of. Unsure whether or not she wanted to soil the garment with such a sour memory as the fear of the reaping, she ran her fingers along the remaining outfits in her closet. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled a yellow cardigan off its hanger to be paired with the dress.

She wanted to push the thoughts out of her mind and remind herself that she'd be safe. District Eight wasn't as highly populated and vast as Eleven or Six, but there were still hundreds of young adults that had their names in the jar. And her name would be on a select few pieces of paper. She didn't exactly like her chances, but reminding herself of the sheer probability that she wouldn't be picked allowed Annie to pull the dress on and resist the temptation of hiding out until the reaping was over.

A few hours later, she heard the footsteps outside her window almost as if there were soldiers marching in the streets below her. The reaping was beginning soon and the potential tributes had begun their journey to District Eight's town square. Annie took one last look in the mirror and sighed. It'll all be over soon, she thought. I just have to stand in that crowd for an hour and then I can just go home and go on with my life. There's no way I'll be picked.

District Eight's town hall square was almost full by the time Annie showed up. The number of potential tributes still didn't reassure her, and she floated through the sign-in process and barely even noticed when her finger was pricked to verify her identity. She didn't snap out of her daze until she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey look it's little Annie Adderall!" The voice belonged to a taller blonde girl; a girl who had relentlessly teased Annie throughout school and one that might have had something to do with Annie's path of addiction. "I heard that if you get picked, you get all these feasts and luxuries before the games. They'll probably even give you drugs! You should just volunteer because no one wants you here anyway."

The other women standing around her sneered. The ceremonies had begun, starting with the replay of the hunger games passed. Annie tried to focus her attention on the sickening reel of film but the constant gore caused her to turn her head away. The blonde saw this as an opportunity to continue her tormenting.

"Besides, it's not like Mommy an Daddy will miss you. I heard they cut you off."

The escort, Craig Pelton had entered the stage in a strangely flamboyant feminine outfit. He began a long-winded speech about how the hunger games were one of Panem's finest traditions and why they're important, but Annie wasn't listening. In fact, no one in that area was listening. Instead, they were all focused on the insults being hurled Annie's way.

"And no one even likes you here anyway. If you were picked, you wouldn't be missed."

Annie was now choking back tears. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. She would've cried in high school, but now she was an adult. Petty insults wouldn't get to her. She was putting her foot down. Mustering up the closest thing she could get to a glare, Annie opened her mouth to speak. But the town square of District Eight had fallen silent. And then one single voice ran out, echoing off the walls of city hall and into the ears of every person in the district.

"Our female tribute from the District Eight is" There was a slight ripping sound, as the paper was unfolded. "Annie Edison!"

Annie's eyes widened and turned to the stage. She was wrong. The odds weren't in her favor.

Gathering herself, she begins the walk to the stage, a walk of shame. The whispers are beginning and oh how she hates them. The blonde who was practically wishing that Annie's name would be pulled from the glass bowl is in awe. As soon as Annie detaches from the herd and begins to walk the graveled space between the male and female crowds, she is joined by four peacekeepers. They surround her, and the five of them begin a march to the stage. Five hundred feet feels like five hundred miles.

Once she climbed the stairs to the stage, the crowd fell silent again. A small glimmer of hope sparked in her before she realized that no one would volunteer to take her place. She never really had close friends in District Eight. And unfortunately, no one was going to jump at the chance to willingly fight to the death, unlike the career districts. The escort had now begun the drawing of the male tribute, but Annie wasn't paying attention. Everything she heard sounded as if she was underwater: muffled and vague. She looked across the crowd and searched the faces of the adults on the sidelines. It wasn't enough to strain her eyes until her vision blurred. She couldn't see her parents anywhere.

Finally, the male tribute had reached the stage, although he had slipped and fallen on his way up the stairs. Laughter erupted from the crowd; he had been another outcast with not many friends. Annie didn't personally know him, but from what she heard from their escort, his name was Garrett.

A quick, awkward handshake is shared between the two tributes before they're ushered into the town hall building. A peacekeeper informs them that they will have five short minutes to say their goodbyes to their families. Garrett practically runs into his designated room, while Annie's pace is much more lethargic. She already knows her parents won't show up. And they're the only family she has.

Sitting down on a surprisingly plush couch, she counted the minutes until she'll be ordered to board a train to be sent to the Capitol. She's still so dazed from the events of the past twenty minutes that she doesn't hear the door open. She didn't notice another person in the room until the man spoke, snapping her back to reality.

"By the looks of it, you got this in the bag." She looked up at the old man, confused. He continues. "I mean, did you see that guy? Pathetic! Pathetic and probably gay."

Although the old man was chuckling, Annie could see the pain in his eyes. Pierce is the closest thing she ever had to a friend in District Eight. His family, well respected in the capitol for their business, had moved to the district when he was younger and the mansion he lived in rivaled that of the mayor's. They had met during her volunteer work in District Eight's hospital where he was recovering from having two broken legs. Somehow, they had become friends through her shadowing of nurses. He was like the offensively racist grandpa she never had.

Annie wasted no time leaping from the couch and into his arms. All she wanted right now was a hug and someone to tell her that everything would be okay. The tears finally began to flow from her eyes as she sobbed, quietly repeating the words "I don't want to go," over and over as the old man patted her back. She was terrified.

And suddenly everything was gone. She was torn from her elderly friend by a peacekeeper that was shouting that her time was up. Although Annie absolutely hated being seen as a child, she couldn't help herself from a childish tantrum. Flailing and kicking her legs, Annie attempted to salvage what was left of her life in District Eight. Tears streamed from her blue eyes and wails erupted from her mouth. Her life was about to change dramatically.


	2. The Reaping in District Three

**A/N. Alright so yeah when I was trying to post this chapter, I clicked some wrong buttons and then accidentally deleted the wrong chapter, so sorry about that. Annnnd I'm sorry it took me forever to update this! ~*college life*~ is busy. But I'm definitely going to try to update this sooner from now on! Also thank you everyone who followed/favorited the story because that really means a lot to me. And thank you for the reviews! Misery-Loathes-Company: Yeah, I didn't realize that I switched tenses back when I first posted the chapter, but when I was rereading it the other day, I saw it and made a mental note to fix it. But thank you! **

He had fallen asleep in front of the television set again. It started to become a normal occurrence for Abed Nadir. Living in District Three had its perks. Especially if you have enough knowledge of electronics to hack into the Capitol's television broadcasts in order to get sitcoms, dramas and movies streamed to your TV. Abed was a bit of a genius in that sort.

Abed's eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for something. The credits from an episode of a crime drama called "Capitol Punishment' were rolling across the small television screen. Suddenly the image flickered and was replaced by a newscast on the reapings and the twelve districts' preparations for the annual hunger games. Based on the recap of the day's events, Abed determined that the reapings had already begun and finished in seven of the twelve districts, which meant that the reaping in District Three was only a few hours away. His eyes lingered on the television set.

The image on the screen now showed the reaping in the eighth district: textiles. The camera zoomed in on the female tribute, whose big blue eyes gave her the classic "deer in the headlights" look. An unfamiliar pang of sadness wedged itself into the young man's chest. The woman couldn't have been more than a few years younger than him. He watched as her eyes fluttered, but never actually closed, and her lips quivered but not a sound escaped them. A frown crept across his mouth and he cocked his head. It was almost as if he was caught in a trance.

And then she was gone. The image of the brunette was replaced by the bespectacled male tribute from the same district. Abed tore his eyes away from the screen and strode towards his room to get dressed.

Unlike many of those who lived in the Districts, Abed didn't live in squalor. In fact, the small house he lived in with his father was far from the electronic district's ghetto. Although his father didn't hold a job working at the mass production factories, his falafel stand ensured that Abed would never have to sign up for the tesserae supplies. They were never in danger of going hungry like those of the more poverish areas of the district.

Mere minutes later, he emerged from his room, only to prepare to sit back down in front of the television again. Before seating himself on the cotton cushion of the couch, he retrieved a bowl and filled it with his favorite cereal. Once seated, he continued to view the broadcast, taking note of the individuals chosen.

Aside from the girl from the textile district, he saw few other interesting tributes. A dark skinned woman was torn from her children and husband in District Six, while a twenty-something male tribute couldn't have been bothered to put on a shirt for the reaping in District Four. In the same district, the blonde female tribute risked the death penalty by yelling out that the district should rebel. The peacekeepers of the fishing district lowered their weapons when they noticed how little response she had gotten.

After an hour of live reaping coverage and the special on the "Top Ten Best Kills of the Decade", Abed stood up almost robotically and strode towards the door; dropping the empty cereal bowl in the sink without missing a step. The door closed behind him with a soft click of the automatic lock. It wasn't until he had been crowded into a group of young men, watching the annual "Hunger Games Introduction" video, that he realized that he had left without turning off the television.

Abed liked to think of those at the reaping as extras in a television program. They were just there for the effect of having a crowd. But once the names were called and the characters had broken from the crowds, they would become main characters. Their storylines would be the important ones that everyone followed. Abed was still thinking about this idea as the escort began the reaping, ceremoniously calling a woman's name first.

He didn't know the girl, although by the looks of it, it seemed she was quite popular in the district considering the collective gasp that occurred once her name had left the lips of the escort. He studied her as she attempted to keep her head held high, even when the peacekeepers surrounded and accompanied her to the stage.

Abed was still watching the woman when the escort began digging around in the second glass bowl filled with the men's names. The tribute's hands were clasped and he could see the slight movement as she rocked back and forth on her heels. Abed was still watching her when the scrap of paper was finally retrieved from the bowl. The tribute raised a hand to her mouth and nibbled on the bit of nail at the end of her index finger. Abed was still watching her as the scrap of paper was torn open. The tribute delicately pulled the piece of nail out of her mouth and flicked it on the stage. Hearing the escort's voice, he finally turned his attention to the man at the microphone.

"And our male tribute of District Eight is… Abed Nadir!"

Abed's mouth hung open. A second passed. Then another. Bodies shifted in the crowds, looking for where the slender man stood. He had done the calculations. He wasn't supposed to be a tribute. It didn't factor into the equations. It wasn't in his timeline; in his script. He wasn't a main character, but an observer. A fly on the wall. This was all wrong. So very wrong.

The shock of hearing his name sent the young man into a catatonic state. His face became void of emotion, although to be honest there wasn't much there to begin with. Chocolate brown eyes glazed over, staring forward and out of focus. He wasn't aware of the peacekeepers headed his way. His body nearly collapsed onto the gravel when the officer grabbed him by the cardigan and pulled him out of the crowd.

And then his legs began to move; clumsily at first, but then falling into a rhythm. Much like the other tribute, he was then completely surrounded by peacekeepers. Due to his awkwardly long legs, he towered over the officers, head bobbing along as they made their way to the stage.

As he clambered up the stage, he got a better look at the female tribute. She was staring at him, lip quivering and watery eyed. The face reminded him of the other tribute he had seen earlier; the one from District Eight. But somehow it was different. He wasn't mesmerized by this woman.

When the escort asked the two tributes to shake hands, Abed robotically extended his arm to her without making eye contact. Instead, he focused on the way that her fell into slight ringlet curls towards the bottom. He wondered how long it took for her to make her hair like that; and why she even did it in the first place. He was sure she'd look just as good with straight hair. Shifting his eyes to finally meet hers, he realized that they were much wetter than thirty seconds ago when he first climbed onto the stage.

And then it hit him. They were going to have to kill each other.

He had been so detached from the idea because he had always seen the tributes as characters in a movie. They didn't really die to him. It was staged. It had to be. They don't really kill each other. They're just characters. It's just fiction. He doesn't really have to kill the woman standing before them. He doesn't really have to kill the crazy blonde from District Four or the dark skinned mother from Six. He doesn't have to kill the terrified girl from Eight.

Abed was still trying to reason with himself as he was being ushered into the town hall. A peacekeeper led him to a small office-like room, where he found that his dad had already been waiting. Gobi Nadir, a usually stern and stoic man, was sitting on the small sofa on the opposite end of the room. He hand was pressed against his mouth, deep in thought. When he noticed his son was standing before him, he didn't acknowledge it with words. Instead, he simply nodded. A second passed. Then another. The silence was broken by the peacekeeper.

"You know, you two only have three minutes."

The Nadir men turned their stare to the peacekeeper, then back to each other; almost in unison. Gobi opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to choke on the words before they could leave his lips. The peacekeeper spoke again.

"Two minutes."

This time, neither man looked at the authoritative figure. They continued their silent staring contest.

"One minute."

Abed crossed the room to where he stood directly in front of his father, his body now less than two feet away. This time he nodded.

"Thirty seconds."

The younger Nadir searched his fathers eyes. Finally, he spoke two simple words. There was no emotion in his voice, no inflection, no feeling. He said it simply, as if it were just a comment about the weather.

"I'll win."

Instead of receiving a reply, Abed was met with another slight nod. Although this time, he saw the small fleck of moisture in the corner of his father's eye. Again, Gobi's mouth opened to say something, and nothing came. Before he could ask his dad what he was trying to say, Abed felt a firm grip on his arm and he was suddenly being pulled back out of the room and through to the back entrance of the town hall building where a sleek silver bullet train was waiting on the tracks.


End file.
